BENEATH HEAVENS GAZE

Chapter 4 – Sect Hunters

The two cultivators knelt before a throne of black stone. Incense curled around them like thin snakes, and cold wind howled beyond the dark pillars of the main hall. Dozens of elders sat in silent judgment along the sides of the chamber, their eyes gleaming with restrained killing intent.

Above them sat Sect Master Weng Zu, robed in dark crimson, his long fingers tapping the armrest with slow patience.

“You lost the vessel.”

“Yes, Sect Master,” murmured the man in armor.

“You lost the mark.”

“Yes.”

“You lost… your blade?”

The man’s lips tightened. “It shattered, my lord. By nothing.”

Whispers stirred among the elders.

“Explain,” Weng Zu said quietly.

The second cultivator—short, with a scar along his jaw—spoke quickly, as if to shield himself. “We tracked her to the misted pines, near the Serpent Valley. There was no trace of Qi, no traps, no formation. And then—something cracked the air. The blade just… fell apart.”

“You saw nothing?”

“No one.”

“No signature?”

“No, Sect Master.”

A long silence.

Then an old woman near the throne leaned forward. Her voice was like dry leaves brushing stone.

“There are tales,” she said. “Of a presence in that mountain. An echoless one. Some call it the ‘Silent Peak Ghost.’ Even the wandering beast tribes won’t go near it.”

“Ghosts don’t break swords,” someone muttered.

“Then what does?” asked another.

Sect Master Weng Zu raised a hand. The room fell silent.

He rose from his seat and walked slowly down the steps.

“We have ruled the eastern realms for three hundred years. No land within two thousand li can shelter one who defies us.”

He looked toward the great map hanging over the altar wall—detailed with peaks, rivers, ruined realms, and forbidden zones.

“Yet here stands a place… untouched.”

He tapped a spot barely marked on the map: a blank mountain range with a single old character beside it—‘Voidcrest.’

“Send the Shadow Crows,” he said. “Let them search. If something hides in that forest, I want it pulled into daylight.”

He paused, then added, “But do not provoke. Observe. Watch.”

A cold smile touched his lips.

“Even ghosts can be unmasked.”

---

Far away, on the mountain cloaked in mist and silence, Chen Fi sharpened a bamboo knife.

Not that he needed it.

It was simply… calming.

Liun sat by the stream, legs crossed, practicing basic breathing techniques he had shown her—not by lecture, but through silent example. She had begun mimicking his stillness, unaware that just sitting in his aura was purifying her meridians faster than any pill.

She opened her eyes. “Your Qi… it’s so natural. It feels like sky and stone.”

He said nothing.

“You’re not from any sect, right?”

“No.”

“Then where did you learn?”

He sliced a thin piece of root with the bamboo blade.

“I’ve forgotten,” he said truthfully.

She tilted her head. “How do you forget something like that?”

Chen Fi looked at the rising sun.

“By living long enough that remembering serves no purpose.”

The wind changed.

Just slightly.

Chen Fi’s eyes narrowed. Barely noticeable—but there. A shadow passed over the far side of the forest. Not one of danger—yet—but of eyes.

They were coming.

Not strong ones. Not yet.

But they had begun to look.

He folded the bamboo knife and stood.

“I’ll be away for a few days,” he said.

Liun’s eyes widened. “What? Where?”

“To walk.”

“To where?”

He looked toward the forest, toward the east where the fog moved differently now.

“Where the silence breaks.”